Stigma Rodeo
by edlovesjuicyfruit73
Summary: Yee haw! Hold onto your hats, Markus Vaughn is about to have his impression of Stigma totally turned upside down! What will happen when the surgeon is signed up for a rodeo where he must ride on top of a giant Cheir! Anything could happen! Oneshot


**A/N: Hello Trauma Center Fans! Welcome to my one-shot, humorous story starring Markus Vaughn! This story was inspired by my imagination, dreams, and by the story ****Alone****, which is very good by the way! (By LegacyNow) So, thank those. This is kind of stupid... Haha, I have a pretty wild imagination so be aware of that! If you aren't for humor, turn around. If you do not think it is funny, I apologize. I thought it was, so, there you have it. Enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Trauma Center, any of the characters, places, or names. They belong to their copyright owner Atlus. This is only for entertainment purposes. **

Markus Vaughn stared out into the open plain, breathing in the fresh mountain air. It was peaceful; not a soul was unhappy as the field burst with spring life.

"Howdy, partner," a voice said behind him. Markus turned to see a man atop a horse, tipping his cowboy hat to him.

"Um... Good afternoon, sir," Markus replied unsurely. He wasn't exactly sure how he'd gotten here in the first place.

"Well, hop on, you're up next here," said the cowboy, reaching a hand down to him. Markus stared up at him in confusion.

"Ain'tcha comin'? Times-a wastin' ya know. That crowd won't wait on ya forever."

Markus shrugged, reaching for his hand to be pulled up on the horse's rear. With a click of his tongue, the horse neighed and trotted away.

"Where exactly are you taking me, sir?" he asked the stranger.

"Why, to the rodeo of course," answered the man. "Oh, pardon me, my name's Trent."

"I'm... signed up for a rodeo?" Markus asked in shock.

"Why, you sure are, partner. Ain't you Markus Vaughn?" Trent asked, shoving the sign-up list in his face. "You're #23 right?"

Markus scanned the paper, setting his eyes upon his name next to the number "23", followed by his own signature. He sighed, finally answering, "I guess I am."

"You'll have one heck-of-a-time my friend! Nothin's like the rodeo, it's the greatest place in all the world! The crowd screamin' your name, the cheering, the breakin' of bones..."

Markus swallowed hard. He didn't understand why he'd signed it, nor could he remember when.

"Sounds... fun..." Markus murmured under his breath.

"Here we are," Trent declared, helping the bewildered doctor down from his horse. "Knock 'em dead!"

Markus thanked him and went to the reception, waiting in line. The woman at the desk smiled at him, handing him his number and pointing out the path he should take to get to the rodeo start-up the fastest.

He thanked her, then taking the designated path and waiting his turn anxiously.

"Why did I sign up for something so ridiculous? As a doctor, I should know how much this puts my health at risk! I must've been intoxicated..." He pouted his lips partly, confused and fearing what would happen next.

He watched in anticipation as contestants rode the bulls, staring in horror as they were launched off. They would fall to earth, dragging along in the dirt like rag-dolls that had been shot from a cannon. It was a terrifying sight. He only wished he could back out, but Trent was counting on him. He didn't even know the guy, and yet he couldn't bear to let him down for some reason... It was all very strange.

"Up next, number 23, Markus Vaughn!" shouted the narrator. Markus took a deep breath, stepping up to take his turn.

The crowd roared with applause as he approached, preparing for the most painful and frightening experience he would ever face.

He wiped his hands on his pants, for they were drenched in sweat. His heart was hammering in his chest. He'd never been more afraid, not that he could recall. He'd be fortunate if he made it out alive!

He looked on, wondering which bull he would ride. What he saw next surprised him and confused him further.

The bull was being _taken away_! He asked the man beside him what the deal was, but he only shrugged in reply.

"What is going on?!" he asked in frustration.

"Calm down, you signed up for it," said a young woman named Betty-Lou.

"I am so lost..." he mumbled.

He looked up, discovering that in the bull's place, a giant Stigma was being pulled up into the ring.

"What the--?!"

"Ladies and gentlemen, Dr. Markus Vaughn will now show us his bravery as he tries his luck on Cheir, a strain of the virus Stigma! It's riled up and ready to be ridden, or in this case, to knock off whoever tries!" announced the narrator with enthusiasm.

Markus stared wide-eyed at the humongous, intimidating virus that stood before him.

"I-I'm going to ride this?!" he asked, dreading the answer.

"Don't be shy, I think he likes you!" Betty-Lou urged, pushing him forward. Markus tried to fight the many hands back, but they lifted him up onto the Cheir, which was saddled and had reins for him to grasp onto.

He grabbed the reins haphazardly, knees shaking as he imagined the worst.

From behind him, Trent screamed, "Good luck!" and gave him a thumbs up.

"Right, good lu--" Before he could finish, the gate was opened and the Cheir raced out, drifting rapidly over the rodeo grounds. Markus could have screamed in terror, but he wasn't sure if he had. He couldn't hear his own thoughts over the cheering of the crowd.

"Whoa!" he screamed as the Cheir tried to shake him, darting back and forth. It tried drifting up, down, left, right, but nothing would knock him off.

"Toss in the IV!" shouted the narrator. A pair of men quickly rushed into the ring, handing up a long IV to Markus. They instructed him to lasso three baby Cheir, which weren't much smaller than the one he was riding. He nodded, though he was still in utter shock that he was _actually riding_ on the giant virus.

The baby Cheir drifted around, darting away every time the larger one came near. Markus, unsurely, swung the IV over his head, then releasing and roping one around the... neck? He wasn't sure, but he laughed and whooped triumphantly as he dragged it to the ground.

"Whoo! Yeah, I got one!" he shouted. "That was... fun!" The crowd all cheered, followed by the narrator's announcement that he'd roped one and there were only two to go.

"Come here you little rascal!" he called, leading his Stigma over to the baby, then roping it around the neck and dragging it down with force.

"One to go," he told himself, swinging the IV in the air once again.

He focused, taking care not to ease up on the tension of the reins so that the Cheir would disobey and go back on an angry rampage. He'd finally gained a little control of it now, and if he was to lasso and take down the final baby Cheir, he needed complete control and deep concentration.

"You can do it, partner!" Trent called, waving his arms wildly.

"Yeah!" he shouted, tossing the lasso.

Time slowed; he'd unknowingly performed the Healing Touch. The IV slowly approached the Cheir, ready to rope it. The Cheir slowly recoiled, trying desperately to escape the lasso as it neared it.

Markus held his breath, holding on tightly to the reins and to the IV as it came closer and closer to the baby Cheir.

Finally, the lasso succeeded, roping it around the neck. Time returned to normal, and it was time to bring it down!

"Let's... go!" Markus ordered, kicking his Cheir in the side. The Cheir responded by dashing in the other direction, forcing the baby to follow to keep up. (Not to mention, it was attached by the IV!)

Markus urged the Cheir to go faster, faster, and still more rapidly, until finally, the baby lost its balance and was taken down.

The crowd screamed at the top of their lungs, all standing up and applauding.

Men threw down their hats, losing their bets, while others cheered louder, their arms full of cash.

The crowd then broke into a chant: "Markus! Markus! Markus!"

Markus jumped down from the Cheir, raising his arms in victory.

"Yes! I am the champion! The winner, the master, the most skilled surgeon and best Stigma rider the world has ever seen! My name will go down in history, my legacy will live on forever, I am the winner!" he shouted.

Trent came down, slapping him hard on the back. "Way to go! You won! The trophy, you won it, partner!"

Markus held up the trophy, smiling as it glistened in the sunlight.

"I AM THE CHAMPION!" he screamed once more.

He was then lifted into the air, all the contestants (those who had survived/not gotten terribly injured) carrying him across the rodeo ground, still chanting "Markus! Markus! Markus!"

"Markus? Markus!" shouted Valerie, shaking him.

"Uhn...?" he groaned, awaking from his glorious dream.

"You were dreaming about Stigma again, weren't you?" she asked, hands on her hips.

"Oh... it was a dream..." he said, shaking his head. He looked down and groaned again, realizing he'd fallen asleep during work, also drooling all over his papers.

"Lovely, Markus," Valerie said, sighing. "Maybe if you got more sleep at night, you'd be able to stay awake during the day, hmm?"

"Yeah, I guess so..." he replied lowly, scratching his head. She sighed again, walking away.

He shook his head, thinking about the vivid dream. How real it had been... and how ridiculous!

Markus rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, the other holding an Advil bottle.

"I've got to lay off the aspirin..." he murmured to himself, tossing it in the garbage and exiting the office.


End file.
